


A Small Thing

by alby_mangroves



Category: The Eagle | Eagle of the Ninth (2011), The Eagle | The Eagle of the Ninth (2011)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-16
Updated: 2013-01-16
Packaged: 2017-11-25 17:59:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/641516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alby_mangroves/pseuds/alby_mangroves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somewhere nearby, Marcus still sleeps. Esca will be still and let him. It's a small thing, this, but something he can offer, anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Small Thing

He wakes to a familiar scent; the tang of autumn leaves gone to rot.

Dawn is upon them but Marcus still sleeps, if the absence of sound is any indication. Esca keeps his eyes closed, just in case.

There is stillness and quiet bar the comforting rustle of foliage, and he loves it- loves this time between sleeping and waking, where the shadow of night still lurks, and a thin veil of warmth remains between his bones and the threadbare blanket he has rolled into, like a caterpillar into its leaf coccoon.

Beneath the roughly spun wool, he pinches his eyes shut and only breathes, holding the morning at bay through stubborn will alone.

It's so cold his nose is numb, and despite last night's best efforts to crawl in under a huge oak to keep dry, Esca's feet are wet where the drizzle has soaked through.

He moves them ever so slighty to feel the horribly gratifying stiffness particular to half-frozen limbs.

He should get up, start moving. Should get warm.

But he doesn't.

Somewhere nearby, Marcus still sleeps.

Esca will be still and let him. It's a small thing, this, but something he can offer, anyway.

Aware only at the most basic level of the world beneath and above him, Esca dozes. 

Almost asleep, almost tipped off the edge of that blissful state where nothing matters, he does not feel Marcus' quiet study of the curve of his neck. Does not know of a leaf clinging to his skin, another small thing. A tiny, wet thing.

Does not see Marcus' rough fingers lift it away as delicately as if it were precious.

He sleeps.


End file.
